“Come for me,” I grunt, making her moan louder and grind harder. “Come for me, little wolf. Give it to me. Milk my cock.”
“Oh, god!” She throws her head back one more time before losing herself, shattering in the most beautiful way. I catch her when she falls against me in a breathless heap, giving me no choice but to fill her with every drop of my come once her pussystarts to massage my shaft. My head is spinning, and my ears are ringing by the time I’m finished, while she still trembles and shudders in my arms.
I could get used to this. I could do this every night for the rest of my life. No matter what the day brings, we’ll have this to come back to. And I could fall asleep at night feeling content, like there’s nothing I can’t do because I have her by my side. My mate, my partner. My all.
The feeling lasts about as long as the silence before my phone buzzes with a new text. It’s still in my pocket, on the floor, but I don’t have to check to know what the message is about.
I think I’ve managed to make my decision more impossible than ever.
Chapter 11
Tara
Please,don’t let it be morning yet. Please, let me stay this way a little while longer.
I squeeze my eyes shut tighter than ever, silently praying like I never have before. I spent all day yesterday wishing time would move a little faster since I can’t stand all of this waiting and worrying. Now, I want it to freeze, because I’m in Kyran’s arms with my head on his chest, and I have never been so comfortable or so content in my entire life.
Maybe it’s because I know this can’t last much longer. Or maybe it’s because I know tonight could mark the end of my life. I don’t believe he wants to do it—I don’t think he ever actually wanted to. But I know how devoted he is to his clan.
Dammit, why do I have to wake up and immediately start thinking about this? The whole idea was to stay in my warm, drowsy bubble as long as possible. Like I can pretend my way out of facing reality.
He’s still asleep, his breathing deep and even. I’m glad. I get the idea he hasn’t slept much the past couple of nights. I still want what’s best for him. Does he know that? How could he, I guess, since I’ve never actually said it out loud. It’s not going to happen, either—I’ve been burned already, screamed at when Itried to kiss him. I guess I can’t be making it any easier for him to inevitably let me go. Whether letting me go means allowing me to leave or ordering my death is another story.
At least I get to see my family tonight. Maybe for the last time. Tears sting behind my eyes and threaten to leak out from between my lashes. There’s got to be a bigger reason for all of this, right? Or maybe not. Maybe I’m so small and insignificant, my entire life will begin and end with nobody but my closest family caring.
He wakes with a start, jumping so suddenly it scares me. I pull back quickly, sitting up and staring down at him in the faint light of early morning. He looks around, a little panicked, before scrubbing a hand over his scruffy jaw. “Sorry. Sometimes I have bad dreams, too.”
What was it about? I can’t believe how much I want to help him. How much I yearn for him to lay his head on my chest and pour his heart out. I need to comfort and soothe, to promise him everything will be all right. Here we are, in the same bed, under the same blankets, but he may as well be a million miles away.
I kind of hoped that after the day we spent yesterday—and the night we spent together—he would be a little more normal today. Not so much like there’s a chip on his shoulder. No such luck. “I have a couple of phone calls to make,” he announces, rolling out of bed without bothering to ask how I’m doing, pulling on jeans. God, he is blisteringly hot. I want to touch him again so badly, to trace the ridges of muscle along his back, between his shoulders. There wasn’t enough time for me to do everything I wanted.
“I’ll make breakfast,” I offer, and he gives me a distracted nod before leaving the bedroom. The front door opens and shuts—I guess he’ll make his calls from the porch. What will they be about? Killing me? Eating is the last thing I want to do now, butI need to do something to pass the time. I’ll pull my hair out if I don’t have any sort of distraction.
By the time he comes back in, looking frustrated and grumpy as ever, I’m flipping pancakes. He frowns at them. Not the reaction I was expecting. “I don’t have pancake mix in the house.”
It’s almost kind of cute. “You don’t really need a mix if you know the right ingredients. You have the basics. That’s all you need.”
“Every day is a school day.” He pours himself a mug of the coffee I brewed before I started cooking, then drops into a chair and rakes his hair away from his forehead with both hands. “What do you think? Season two today?”
He is not seriously asking me that, is he? I mean, I appreciate it. He’s not flat out reminding me I could face my doom tonight. But, come on. Like we’re going to sit together, and binge watch a show. As if there’s anything normal about any of this.
Still, I nod and force a pleasant expression when I turn toward him with the platter of pancakes. “Sure. I have to do something, right?”
His brows pinch together before smoothing out again. He doesn’t say anything. What is there to say, I guess.
This is absurd. There’s an elephant in the room. What are we going to do, ignore it all day? Watch a show whose third season I might never get the chance to see? I almost want to laugh, but I can’t seem to pull enough air into my lungs for anything like that. Instead of trying, I set down the syrup bottle after pouring, making it thud hard enough against the table that his head snaps up. “What are you doing tonight? What are you going to tell them?”
Slowly, he sits back in his chair, almost slumping. I’ve never seen anybody deflate like that. “There I was, thinking I could have a little peace and quiet.”
“Of all people, I think I’m the one with the right to know. Don’t you?” He’s too busy chewing to answer. I think he deliberately took a mouthful as an excuse not to speak. “This is my life we’re talking about. Are you going to kill me? Are you going to let them do it? Or are you going to let me go?”
Unbelievable. He’s sitting there chewing slowly, deliberately, avoiding giving me an answer. I thought alphas were supposed to be tougher than this—something tells me I would seriously, seriously regret saying that, so I’m smart enough to keep my mouth shut. But for real. Why can’t he just come out with it? I’m sure he wouldn’t feel any more patient than I am now if he was in my shoes.
When he sets down his knife and fork, I wish I hadn’t asked. Some questions I don’t want an answer to. I only think I do. There’s no turning back time and pretending I didn’t, though, so I square my shoulders to fake confidence I don’t feel.
His dark eyes meet mine and steal my breath before he gives me a surprise. “What do you want?”
Yeah, curveball. Was not expecting that. “Excuse me? Are you seriously asking what I want?”
